a/n: A disclaimer - also, I apologize in advance for any OOC-ness and other mistakes! Feel free to point them out to me.

And thank you Rania for having been willing to read over this for me. ;;

Here's one thing: supposedly, teenagers will benefit most from having eight-and-a-half to nine-and-a-quarter hours of sleep per night.

Studies show that teenagers are not getting enough of sleep because as they are undergoing the process of puberty, their hormones trash their usual sleeping patterns, and this creates a conflict between their biological clock and their school start time. It is a nuisance. Get plenty of rest, they commanded, but do get all of your work done too, even if it costs you your youth.

The boys of Nishiura High School's baseball team were advised just the same, and for their own sake please sleep as early as they could. But they were teenagers, all the same. On generous nights they might readily welcome the warmth and comfort of their beds or futons, doze off after a good dinner and shower knowing they might have a spare hour to sleep in the morning. Other nights they might find themselves up finishing schoolwork, or getting too engrossed in a miscellany of other things – or whatever, to ungodly hours. It would exhaust them. They were teenagers, and there was a price to be paid for growing up.

Light sleepers don't get bothered by this as much. People like Abe are capable of surging through a grueling day filled with relentless school tasks and a strenuous training schedule with about five hours of sleep. The fact impressed his team mates. Mizutani had asked once what had been the latest time he stayed up for.

"I don't know," he replied shortly, "I sleep around eleven or twelve o'clock most nights. So probably one."

Morning training starts at five.

"I hate finishing off homework at school," he explained, frowning, after being asked what he did to stay up late. "The thought of rushing it exhausts me even more. Of course I try my best to sleep at ten or eleven, but I can't sleep without knowing all my work has been done. Why else would I stay up so late?"

"To jerk off." It was Tajima who said this.

The fact that Abe stayed up late was not impressive because of how late he could stay up (they all stayed up pointlessly late at some stage). It surprised them because this was Abe. This was their catcher, gifted at his role with brilliant cunningness and a strong sense commitment, and notorious for being outrageously fussy. Everything he did seem to be for the sake of baseball. He strictly regulated his own life so that it revolved around the game – presently (and he might not know it himself) he might be trying to regulate someone else's as well. His team mates had assumed he would regulate his sleeping pattern, too, because he had mentioned so many times to a certain someone how bad the effects of lacking sleep were to the mind and body, and God knows what could happen in a game.

So was Abe a hypocrite? Maybe. But he was their best catcher, so he was forgiven.

That being said, Abe could not help but feel like he may have lied a bit. Some nights he did stay up to finish off his homework. More than he could count, however, Abe stayed up many nights taking care of the most trivial business.

Here is an example. It was nearly one o'clock on a Tuesday morning, and the lights in the Abe household had been shut out since eleven. Mr. Abe had decided to turn off the television set early. Everyone else was fast asleep but life remained to stir restlessly in the room of his oldest son. In here, white light was casted by a single desk lamp, which illuminated all the details and still life on Abe's study table and threw amorphous shadows in the parts of the room where it would not reach. On the centre of the table laid a textbook and a blue notebook, and by their side a pencil case zipped tight. The books were stacked on top of each other and closed. They had not been opened since an hour ago.

Abe left this bit of still life untouched and sorted out the ones around it. He brushed off eraser dust and relocated books that were left out of place. He arranged the writing utensils in a pot beside the desk lamp. There were documents to categorize in folders which he stored in his desk drawers and bookshelves.

And when he was done it was nearly one o'clock on a Tuesday morning, and he did not know why he did what he had done. He lay sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was beginning to feel tired but he felt that he should not sleep – that there were a hundred things he must do and create, a hundred private wishes he could try and fulfill. This was what the night time brought to him. It made him feel inspired; made him feel some sort of ache that might have been old, and lingering; made him crave for something he never learnt the name of, so he always tried to brush it off but it stung him when he tried to sleep.

He closed his eyes. What had been consuming him these days? He thought about school; about his class, and that the two people who struck out the most to him were Mizutani and Hanai, crap left-fielder and captain of the baseball team respectively. Then he thought about his baseball team and how they were going to go on a practice match in two days. He wondered about the condition of their pitcher. Is he treating himself well? Is Abe himself treating him well? Well, Abe was trying. Honest. But he could never tell with Mihashi.

Mihashi…

Abe frowned. He grabbed his mobile phone from his desk, flipped it open, and searched for Mihashi's number. Then he punched in a message:

Don't forget to bring my notes tomorrow.

It got sent. Abe relaxed. That should do for the night. He returned to thoughts again and let his body feel heavy, steadily drifting off to sleep.

It had only been five minutes when his phone vibrated in his hand. Disgruntled, he flipped it open and squinted at the screen through bleary eyes. It was a message from Mihashi.

He sat up.

'Okay,' the message read.

And all of a sudden the room grew hot, and his heart was pounding hard against his rib cage. All of a sudden he was angry, because his pitcher was being an idiot.

In the confusion of being aggravated in such a drowsy state, Abe decided that calling him back was the quickest way of getting a reply. He pressed his mobile against his ear and scowled at the foot of his bed while he waited for the line to be picked up. It took eleven beeps before Mihashi answered with a meek, "H-hello?"

"What are you doing?" Abe growled. "You're supposed to be asleep. Do you know what time it is?"

He waited for a reply. All that he heard for a while was the soft, static crackle of Mihashi's breathing. "I'm… sorry."

Abe gathered breath. He tried again, softly, "Look: it's important that you get a good night's sleep, alright? I've told you. You might get sick. And I wouldn't know what I would do if you got sick. We have a practice match in two days and we need you."

A stifling pause.

"I'm… sorry."

Abe breathed out. "It's fine. Just go to sleep, alright? Bye."

He had meant to pull his phone away immediately but Mihashi did not return his farewell. "I'll- go to sleep," he blurted, "But… Abe should sleep, too!"

Abe froze.

"Abe," Mihashi pressed on, "Should sleep, or you will get sick, too."

Another pause. Then Abe felt a smile crack on his lips. "Don't worry about me," he said, "I'm a light sleeper."

"I'm- also a light sleeper!"

Abe raised his brows. Was Mihashi prompting for a conversation? Abe was not sure, but he felt that neither of them had the intention to hang up so soon. At least, Abe hadn't.

He leaned back on his bed and closed his eyes. "Really?"

"Y-yes."

"Since when? You don't seem like it."

"Middle school."

Abe opened his eyes, felt a tender pang in his chest. "Did it have anything to do with...?"

"H-uh?"

Abe bit his lip. "Nevermind."

Mihashi did not pursue the words that Abe had dropped, and Abe did not know what to say for a while. With a sinking feeling, a voice in his mind whispered to him that the conversation has ended; they should both go to sleep.

But Mihashi was, to Abe's surprise, not quite done yet. "Abe," he began again, "What… are you doing up so late?"

"I've been tidying up. I can't sleep. I keep thinking there are so many things I have to do before I go to sleep."

"That's bad."

"Is it?"

"You should sleep. If you're tired."

Abe smiled inwardly. "Then what are you doing up so late? Aren't you tired?"

Mihashi said that he was working on the laptop, much to Abe's astonishment. Something in Mihashi's voice sounded brighter. "I am tired... but I'm- I'm used to it."

"Don't overwork yourself."

"I won't."

"Good." Something sprang in Abe's mind and found its way to his lips. "Listen, Mihashi," he started, "How are you feeling right now? Besides 'tired.'"

Abe could hear Mihashi's thoughts whir.

"I'm fine."

"Fine?" Abe echoed. That was good, but—"Do you feel anything else?"

"Ye-es. Alone."

"Alone?"

"Yes. Because," Mihashi explained, "Everyone is sleeping. I feel so alone."

I feel so alone.

All of a sudden Abe remembered the conversation he had with his dad one dinner and how he had been asked, "Do you have any friends?"

And Abe recalled being greatly insulted. Of course he had friends. He had his baseball team mates. They were friends, he had thought, although they rarely ever go to places together. He has gathered a lot of contacts from middle school on his mobile phone. No one has ever called him since he left, but he had thought, 'So what?'

Then he remembered overhearing a conversation between a group of girls in his classroom. Someone had said that conversations that happen late at night with a friend (or someone very dear) were the most memorable ones. Abe had snorted. He thought it was a complete waste of time.

He never had conversations with a friend through the phone. Not one unrelated to work. And certainly not at one o'clock in the morning.

Somewhere in the world the ceilings of a cave had fallen down, and it was all because of a crack.

"What about now?"

"Now," the pitcher said, "I-I don't feel so alone! It's because—I'm talking with Abe."

With his free hand, Abe covered his eyes. The corners of his lips quivered. "That's good. I don't feel alone either."

The conversation wandered steadily towards matters more skin-deep. Little things: what they did after they arrived back home, what they ate for dinner, what shows, if any, they caught up with. Abe found himself steering the conversation away from baseball. It was slow-paced, and stiff, like the way a baby dawdles as it takes its first steps. It required effort from both catcher and pitcher, but it was rewarding – at some point, Abe heard himself chuckle.

Then he decided it was time they got some rest. He thanked Mihashi. It was something he felt he needed to say – thank you, for finally picking up and replying; thank you, for putting up with a one o'clock chat.

Mihashi made a noise, like he found a little present box beneath his pillow. He thanked Abe as well. He always did. Then Abe hung up.

Abe turned off his desk lamp and buried himself underneath his blanket. He found that nothing stung him that night, that the ceaseless ache he had felt the previous nights had somewhat dissipated. He found he slept well.

And here's another thing: supposedly, those who stay up late are either the loneliest or in love.